Scars On Your Heart
by HerFairy
Summary: Maybe they were just a little too young or maybe a little too broken at the time to be anything else, but time had a way of healing wounds. Divorced!AU with kids, dedicated to emmasswann on tumblr.


**a/n:** A very merry Christmas **_emmasswann_** who told me she enjoyed angst and divorced with kids stories. Neither of which are something I've ever written before. I'm not particularly good at angst, I think, but hopefully you'll enjoy this gift nonetheless! Due to computer issues and traveling, this was separated into two parts!

Happy holidays everyone!

...

 **part one**

…

 _There's a special sort of place in hell for people like him._ She remembered the very thought she had about him. She had been eighteen when she met him and he had stolen her parking spot, the very last one in a crowded parking lot on Christmas Eve. It was another few minutes before she could find another spot and by that point, Henry's squawking had reached a new level of outrageous, leaving her ears ringing and her temper fraying. So, it wasn't surprising when she walked out later, Henry on her hip and pushing a shopping cart with varying degree of success, and spotted him his frenzied attempts at putting his things in the bed of his truck, and couldn't help snipping.

She didn't remember what she said to him the very first time, but he liked to remind her that it wasn't fit for younger ears. She didn't argue, as she did remember pressing one of Henry's ears to her chest and holding her hand over the other, but she liked to think she hadn't really lost it in a Target parking lot over a parking spot of all things.

Rather than be alarmed by her verbal barrage, he had laughed like it was all a joke, the sound faltering when he turned to face her and could see the angry red splotches on her face. "Oh," had been his first word to her. She did remember that. He was shockingly well-spoken and his loss of words upon seeing her had made her laugh later. At the time, however, it had done little to improve her mood. After all, she had been waiting for the parking spot for while a bit longer and it was hardly polite for him to swing by, stealing it at the last moment.

It was ridiculous, but she was tired and it was Christmas Eve and she had only gone to the store for a few things because she wanted to do the stupid tradition of milk and cookies for Santa. Sure, she wasn't very fond of the holiday itself - it was a bit too much everything, if you asked her, which no one ever did - but the lack of representation for any other meant that she had little knowledge of how to celebrate the others. And little motivation to actually research them. And she wanted to celebrate _something_. For Henry.

Everything was for Henry.

Christmas was the easiest one. She had decided, last minute, that she would do this one thing. He was too young to care about presents, but she could do this for him. A waste of milk and a waste of cookies, but also kind of a promise. It was his first Christmas and a second chance all in one that could hardly be wasted.

So - of course - she was mad that he had made her day worse. And - of course - she was mad that he thought it was funny. And - of course - she was suspicion when his face had fallen into a disarming smile and had gallantly offered to lead her cart to her bug as repentance. She agreed.

That was the beginning of what later became accidental meetings at the coffee shop, a literal run in at Granny's, and awkward small talk when they met on the street. It was Storybrooke, it was far too small to not run into each other. They weren't friends by any means, not even after the year of living in the same small-town and running into each other every other day, but that didn't stop the sizzle of attraction every time they met. Till, at last, it boiled over.

Friendship didn't come from that single night together either.

The two little lines did though.

…

 _June 2003_

"Those were disgusting, I don't know why you eat them," she said, closing her eyes as nausea threatened her. Nothing came up, but the feeling remained, a swirling knot of discomfort that kept her glued to the tiled bathroom floor. The flu, she had thought nearly two weeks ago when the sickness had first appeared, but that thought flew out the window after the near retching she had done when Deputy David had brought in donuts like the cliché small town cop he was.

He had smiled at her, offered her the donut he made sure to get whenever he knew she was coming in to pick up cases, and she had nearly knocked over a lamp in her haste to make it to the bathroom.

She opened her eyes, blinking away frustrated tears. _This isn't flu._

"I got you a bear-claw and everything," David replied, smothering his curiosity under a curtain of pleasantness. She could see his shadow from beneath the door as he rocked on his feet, unsure of what to do. It wasn't in his personality to leave someone to suffer alone though. She would appreciate the thought later, but she wished he would leave her to her fears. As if sensing her thoughts, he suddenly spoke. "I'll get you some water. A cup, actually, that would be more helpful."

"Okay." His shadow disappeared and she lent her forehead on her arm, releasing a slow breath. She couldn't be pregnant, she couldn't be. Henry would turn two in a few months and she was just barely finding the rhythm of taking care of him, of being his mother. Adding another child to the mix… She barely knew how to be a mother to one, could she honestly do it again?

She squeezed her eyes shut, shoving the emotions into a drawer and slamming it shut. Emotions weren't helpful here, it was too late for her to wonder what if and how come and could she. Far too late. She had to now.

And she loved Henry. Despite the difficulties, despite the hardships, despite the sleepless nights and the bitter memories and the constant self-doubt, she loved Henry and the life the two of them had in Storybrooke. She wouldn't give less to this new child than she gave to Henry. She could do it. She had to do it. She…

Emma opened her eyes, tilting her face to the door, where she could hear the scuff of David's shoes along the floor, returning once more to her. He would only allow a few minutes of self-pity before he came along. She smiled, a little, because it was so like him to give space and announce his presence in the same breath.

"Do you want the cup now or do you need a little while? I put the donuts away, maybe you'll be okay now."

Her stomach twisted at the mention, but not as strongly now that she was empty.

Of food, at least, she thought with a strangled laugh.

"Okay."

He paused, thinking of what that meant, before opening the door and staring down at her. She must have looked pathetic, nearly on the bathroom floor, her hair tucked haphazardly into her collar to keep it away from her and her face pale save the red splotch where her forehead had been pressed into her arm. He set the cup on the sink, offering his hands to her and she accepted.

Once on her feet, she let go, going to the sink and washing her hands before rinsing her mouth and splashing cold water on her face. She wiped her face dry, mentally planning all the things she would need to do now. For starters, a pregnancy test. She knew, but she wouldn't be able to tell him to trust her gut. Then…

"The Sheriff said you guys needed another person in here," she said slowly, looking at herself in the mirror. Pale face, dark eyes, tangled hair, but a sort of glow to her that she hadn't noticed before. "Is that still available?"

Continue as a bail bonds woman wasn't going to work anymore, she couldn't leave two children with Granny for the night and she couldn't go nine months without work.

He looked confused, but nodded.

"I'm going to need that application."

He nodded again.

"I'll see you later."

He nodded, but stopped midmovement, shooting her a suspicious look. "Does that mean you will come to dinner tonight?"

She opened her mouth to agree, if only so she could escape before he looked at her too closely and read the newfound awareness on her face, but hesitated. There was Henry to talk to, even though he was too young to really understand what she was saying. Then there were appointments to make so she could check on the baby. Before all that, she had to actually take a test.

And after all that, she would have to tell him.

"No, I'll need a raincheck on that."

After all, it would take most of the evening to work up the nerves to tell Killian Jones he was going to be a dad.

…

 _July 2003_

As it turned out, she didn't tell Killian Jones that day about it. Nor the day after. Or the day after that. A full month passed, her nerves getting the better of her every time she went to lift up the phone, and still she sent nothing. Not even when she passed him on the street two mornings after she took a test (it was positive, as she knew it would be).

The morning of her first appointment dawned early with Henry's squeals as a nightmare woke him up and it only continued in a similar fashion from there as she suffered through another bought of morning sickness while Henry played with toys in the other room. She wiped her mouth, swished water, and brushed her teeth for good measure – it was little after nine before she even left her bedroom with some semblance of getting ready for the day.

Her phone was plugged in on the counter and taunted her as she passed.

"Mom!" Henry chanted, scrambling over to his high chair, trying to pull himself up. "Eat!"

She took the excuse to ignore her phone once more, setting him inside and giving him some cereal to eat. Her phone buzzed. She put the milk away and sent him a severe look in case he tried to climb out himself before returning to her bedroom to dress for the appointment later that afternoon, a bone deep weariness in her bones.

She rinsed off in the shower quickly, grabbing a pair of loose, comfortable clothes. Something that wouldn't be out of place normally, but dig into her stomach either. Half her clothes didn't seem to fit anymore. She squeezed into the top, but ripped it off instantly, crumbling it and throwing it on the floor. "Damn," she said aloud, grabbing a tank top and deciding that she would just pull on a sweater over it.

Her stomach fluttered as though apologizing and she placed her hand over it gently. "We'll figure this out, little one," she murmured quietly. She felt nothing beneath her hand, it was far too soon for something like that, but a calm spread over her.

She ate a bagel quickly and then dressed Henry for the day before they set out. It was bright and sunny in Storybrooke - typical for July - with only a light breeze from the sea to keep it from being sweltering. Thankfully too, for the air conditioner in her bug had gone out a few days before and her appointment wasn't close. Henry enjoyed the way the breeze from the open window as they drove and she enjoyed his little giggles.

There was only one hospital in Storybrooke, unfortunately. Though Emma had managed to sneak into the pharmacy to grab a pregnancy test the month before, she didn't doubt that her secret would end today. Her bug was hardly inconspicuous and she was hardly unnoticeable. She didn't put much effort into hiding where she parked, not when she would be lugging Henry and a diaper bag inside, but she nonetheless took a deep breath, gathering her courage.

Then she walked inside.

Two hours later, most of which was spent waiting for the doctor to see her, Emma held two sets of ultrasound pictures. They were identical, the baby little more than a few inches, and she held her a breath as she traced her fingers over its face. Holding them made her feel better, like they were anchors holding her from floating away, but with it also came a sudden dawning awareness of her responsibility.

It was time to tell him. No more running away.

…

Killian Jones wasn't a bad person. She had reminded herself of that for hours after her appointment, but the real feeling of dread hadn't occurred until she was on his door step, fingers twisting in the diaper bag. She felt strange taking Henry with her, none of her interactions with the man involved her son much, aside from the waves they shared when passing on the street with Henry by her side. But if he wanted a part of the baby's life then he had to get used to Henry too.

If he wanted to be in the baby's life. That thought scared her more than anything. Neal had left before she even knew about Henry and subsequent time tracking him down, waiting in Florida with a newborn for weeks, had done nothing but prolong her suffering. Washing her hands of Neal and Florida alike had been freeing, like she had busted the chains of who she was and could start her life as a better person. For Henry, yes, but also for herself.

No more stealing, no more thievery. She would try her hardest to be the best person for him.

The fact that someday Neal could come along and shatter the life she had made for herself was frightening. She loved Neal, sure, but a part of her hoped he was dead rather than deal with all the pain he had put her through.

And here she was again, opening herself up to the possibility of hurt. But not as bad. He wouldn't break her if he refused to be part of the baby's life. That was his choice and he would regret it – just as she knew Neal would regret not knowing Henry though she wasn't sure whether that would be enough for her to forgive him or to love him again.

Killian Jones was no Neal Cassidy, though.

Her time with Killian had been exhilarating, a clash of wills and passion, but there was no love there and there probably ever wouldn't be.

How very wrong she was.

The day she told Killian had been strange and awkward and uncomfortable. They had escaped it though with a newfound awareness of the other – where she had expected more of a denial to her words, he had calm acceptance. Too calm, in her opinion, a storm lingering behind his too wide eyes, but she hadn't wasted time in figuring that out. She had told him the truth, given him her phone number and the ultrasound pictures. Then she told him that if he wanted any part of the child's life, he would let her know before her due date, which was set to be on – funnily enough – December 25th.

He had texted her the new morning asking for her next appointment and whether it would be alright if he came along.

She had accepted.

That was the beginning of a long and somewhat tedious relationship. It was also the beginning of a friend and a family.

…

Cassie Swan-Jones was born on December 26, 2003 at approximately 12:11am. The weeks following her birth had been difficult, where Emma and Killian tried to balance this new life. Emma, with sharing her parenting with somebody who actually wanted to be there with her through it all. Killian, who didn't know how to be a parent.

…

They decided to try. For Cassie. To be more for her, better for her. Their first date was two months after her birth.

Their first kiss was a week later, during their second date. They were lucky Granny agreed to watch both Cassie and Henry for them to get time together. It was the type of kiss that made her toes curl, the kind that tore the breath from her lungs and left a pleasant hum to her skin when they parted.

Their second kiss was on Killian's doorstep the day she dropped Cassie off for his day with her while she and Henry had their time together. It was short and sweet, the beginning of something fragile.

They married in the fall of 2004, two months before Cassie's first birthday.

And while the months after that were pleasant, there was always something just holding them back. A wall of sorts that neither could cross no matter how much they tried. It took Emma months to realize you couldn't make a relationship out of obligation only.

And the day she realized that was the day things fell apart.

…

 _November 2006_

As he passed her in the kitchen, he smiled and kissed her. There was affection in the action, she never doubted that, but as of late, the feeling had been different. Perhaps because she had come to see things in a new light, perhaps because he saw it too. Or – and she suspected this was more likely – she had deluded herself for two years to see something that wasn't there.

She almost found it funny that Mary Margaret and David were the ones to point it out to her. That she didn't really give anything of herself to him, nothing more than what a situation would require. Nothing more than what was needed to raise their daughter without mishaps. And it surprised her, though it shouldn't have, to see him do the same.

Oh, but he was so much more successful than her. His words were charming and gave just a little, but never enough. Hers were nothing at all, no lines to read between.

(How did one even measure what was enough?)

"Henry, get Cassie's shoes please," she called to him. He bobbed his head, shooting his younger sister a smile that was not returned as Cassie stared down at her cereal. Henry left the room, she rose to follow him, only for Killian to swoop her up.

"If you don't eat, Cygnet, you aren't going to be able to go to Uncle Liam's," Killian chided her, setting her down as she tried to wiggle away. They had graduated her from the high chair to a little table only a few days before and she wasn't much fond of it. "Auntie Belle would be very upset, don't you think?"

"Bel." She mumbled in response. Killian lifted the spoon to feed her, but she turned her face away, yanking it out of his hand, and began to feed herself. He straightened, a proud smile on his face as he faced Emma again. It didn't droop as she stiffly gave him another.

She wondered how long it had been that their smiles had become fixed that they didn't even notice anymore.

"Boots. Where are boots?"

"Up in the room, Henry."

A pause then a crash of Henry running down the hallway.

Emma snuck a glance at Cassie, too occupied with eating and spilling most of it down her chest to notice what her parents were doing, and then stepped closer to Killian. He looked over at her, his brows furrowing, confusion on his face.

How long had it been since she had a reason to talk to him? Everything was about Cassie. What Cassie needed, what Cassie wanted. It occurred to her that though they were married and the fizzle remained, their entire relationship was based on their daughter.

He wasn't Killian Jones anymore, he was the father of her child. She wasn't Emma Swan anymore, she was the mother of his child. That was the extent of who they were to the other. A person, yes, but little more than that. They had forgotten to be more than that, she realized with a pang, looking away from his curious eyes briefly, the rush of knowledge enough to make her sway.

It was one thing to think that she had deluded herself into imagining something between them, but even worse to realize that they had been together all this time not for each other but to give Cassie the family that neither had.

Cassie deserved more than that. Killian deserved more than that.

And Emma did too.

"Do you have time before you leave to talk?" After he dropped the kids off at Liam's, he was meant to handle somethings on his ship.

He hesitated a moment, something warring in his features, and then nodded. "Aye. I'll drop them off and then come here."

"Thank you." The words felt wrong to use, heavy on her tongue. In twenty minutes, she was going to be changing their whole world. For the better, she hoped, because if there was one thing she wanted her kids to know, it was that they deserved to be with somebody they loved and who loved them in return. She wanted them to love their future spouse, she didn't want them to marry someone because they shared a child together.

They deserved more than that. Just as she did, just as Killian did.

...

...

 **tbc**


End file.
